Harry Potter and the Chamber of Weed
by Undertow
Summary: Harry Potter continues his journey through puberty. Harry matures and discovers the benefits of a wonderful plant.


I do not own these characters, though, I wish I did, because I'd be super rich. Rated R for some disturbing themes regarding wasted childhood, language, sexual references, and explicit drug references. Enjoy.

Frankly, the author of that piece of shit doesn't know what he was thinking. In fact, he can't even recall if he was smoking at the time. However, Harry Potter soon escaped the troubles of his life. He found a special tool, and, you know what made it even more special? It could be bought five blocks away.

See, ganja, or, weed, can be bought by anyone, and enjoyed by anyone. It serves as a valuable tool that can be used as an extracurricular activity, a friend builder, and a state that isn't replicable by any other tool. And, Harry, a geek outside of Hogwarts, found his new friend. It all began one day, when Hermione was bitching about Harry's interests.

Hermione took her hands, and used it to create a point with her index finger. She was quite afraid of the middle one.

"Harry Potter! I'm sick of you living on your laurels! It ain't just! Or fair!" she screamed.

"...Hmm," Harry said, turning around.

"Do you do anything outside of Hogwarts?" Hermione said. "I can understand having non-supportive relatives, so you can't spend your days in MAT prep, but, geez. Can't you at least do intramural sports?"

"Yeah, I could. But, see, I have one problem. Dudley. He participates in those things. And, I can't go anywhere in the summer without him finding out. He'll find out eventually. Whether it's by force, rumor, or hidden cameras," Harry replied, petulantly.

"Maybe you should try planning it better, you know?" she suggested.

"And maybe you should just fuck off," Harry replied.

OOH! Diss! Hermione walked away, furious as usual. Harry, ashamed of his behavior, walked a bit. He thought that perhaps it was time to follow Hermione's advice and develop an extracurricular. Perhaps it could be joining the campaign for Tony Blair, or perhaps, it could be learning how to fence. Either way, Harry thought, I'll become something, someday. As the message in Cinderella goes, regardless of how much your heart is grieving, if you continually believe, the dream you wish of will come true! And, oh, how Harry wished. He wished, and wished. And wished some more. And, oh, did his heart grieve. And grieve, and grieve. And grieve some more.

Harry pondered about. Looking around, he soon discovered a group of men in black hoodies. Something smelled sweet, and there was a boombox playing "I've got the power" in the background. It was tempting, and Harry was immediately attracted to the smell.

"Yo, dude, fifteen euros," a man said.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said, confused.

"Yo, dude, fifteen euros. You want a bag, no?" the man replied.

"What kind of bag," Harry responded, emphasizing his British superiority.

"Here, try this." The man handed Harry a piece of white paper, lit.

"Is this like a cigarette," Harry questioned. "Because, if it is, it better be good. Camel cigarettes taste like shit."

"Oh, this is much better. Much better," the man assured Harry.

"Alright. Can I give you a carton or something in exchange? Just so I can test it out over the weekend? And, is there a money back guarantee?" Harry questioned.

"I guess. We need cigs every so often. We use the paper to put our own stuff in it, and, that way, it can be smoked in public," the man said.

"Oh, I see." Harry took out a pack, and opened it. He was tempted to take one out, but resisted. Every cigarette was perfectly round, and the tobacco in each differed in some artsy and abstract sorta way. "Can I take the pepsi challenge?"

"What in god's name is the pepsi challenge? Dude, just take the shit."

Harry walked off, pissed, but decided to smoke up anyways. He walked a bit until he found a nice spot near a bus station. Lighting up, Harry thought about Hermione. Sooner or later, the thought of Hermione disappeared. And, eventually, thoughts about Hermione, Adolf Hitler, and a song called "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds" were scrambling about in Harry's head. Then, a thought of a film, directed by Consuelo Fernandes came into his head. And, he thought, it would be about him...

At the same time, a monkey approached Harry. This monkey, however, wasn't an ordinary monkey. This monkey had an exceptional amount of pubic hair. The pubic hair was so very excessive. The monkey creeped up being a stoned Harry and, attacked.

"BLOODY CREATURE," Harry exclaimed. "Not again!" At that moment, the monkey bit even deeper into Harry's flesh, forcing him to drop his marijuana cigarette. Harry was too out of it to even remember what had happened the last time he had been bitten by a monkey, but he remembered something strange. The lightening on his forehead hurt. It felt like a migraine. But, unlike an ordinary migraine, it felt like a Voldemort migraine.

"You fucking bastard! Can't you do anything other than attack innocent sixteen year olds smoking up and wasting their childhoods? You NEVER leave me alone! NEVER! And, you know. Even Dudley demonstrates more restraint than your ass!"

The monkey dug deeper into Harry's skin. Hell, even Harry didn't know what was going on. He just knew that something of that sort could be classified as rape. He wanted to take out his cell phone, and speed dial, but he couldn't. He thought about the possible consequences. Still, even worse, Harry was getting hard. And, the monkey wasn't particularly attractive with the big bush.


End file.
